Of Rope And Rambo Knives
by Candra 'wolfgal97
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots that I've either come up with or that have been requested by my readers. Just really a mix and match of a bunch of different moments between the boys.
1. This One

_A/N: Well, hello there! This is a collection of one-shots that I've either come up with or that have been requested by my readers. If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_Teaser: "I've been waiting for this one, Roc." For Connor, this one was personal. This chapter was requested by __**VeritasVamp**__._

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**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

**_This One_**

**Candra Hastings**

Connor had been waiting for this one. So had Murphy, but the guilt of what had happened didn't weigh as heavily on his shoulders as it did Connor. It hadn't been Murphy's fault they couldn't save her. It hadn't been Murphy who'd held them back that day.

It had been on Connor. And it was Connor who recognized the scumbag behind the glass...

_...Connor's fingers tickled the palms of the boy's hands that rested on them. He ignored the slight twinge of pain that came from the bandaged skin of his wrists that came from the action. Keeping this boy's mind off his upcoming operation was more important._

_"Alright, again," he said to the boy. "Look up."_

_Murphy sat next to the boy. When the child looked up as told, his hands darted out and gently smacked the top of the boy's hands while he was distracted._

_The boy's head snapped down to look in astonishment at Connor's hands under his own. How could he have moved so fast? There was no way._

_Connor and Murphy both grinned but resisted the urge to look at each other so the boy wouldn't become suspicious of their trick. "Didn't feel me move, did yah?" Connor asked._

_The boy shook his head, eyes wide in wonder._

_Connor winked at his twin, signaling to do it again. Just as Connor was about to tell the boy to look up, he was cut off by a pained scream of a woman._

_The brothers looked to the corner of the room. There, a woman who obviously lived a harsh life was being yanked up by her thick, dark tangly mess of hair by a man. She was bruised and beaten, the split in her lip testament to abuse. It was painfully clear that the man who was her pimp was the one who'd done it._

_Instantly, the twins were on their feet, ready to go to her aid. They'd teach the man a little respect._

_And Murphy was up and halfway across the room when he heard his brother fall. He whirled around to find Connor lying on the floor, a look of pain flashing across his golden features. And Murphy knew that he couldn't let him fight someone. Not now, just after he'd jumped off a roof and mangled his wrists in order to save his brother's life. No, Connor wasn't fit to fight this day._

_He went to his brother's side and helped him up, resting him against the wall. Both of them felt their hearts sink as the woman who was still screaming was dragged out. Connor tried again to move, but Murphy held him still, wrapping strong arms around him, grateful for the steady beating of his brother's heart that he felt under the palm that was on Connor's chest._

_"Okay. Just calm down. Take it easy," Murphy said to his brother, "He'll have his day. He'll have his day!"..._

...And here he was now. Connor could make that day right.

But Rocco wanted to do it. "Oh man," the Italian said, "You gotta let me do these guys. I'm such a moron. I gotta make up for that tit thing!"

"No way," Connor denied. This was his. "I've been waiting for this guy."

"C'mon, Con, give the guy his shot," Murphy argued. And Connor knew if he said no that Murphy would drop it. That he would let his brother have the final say. But Rocco had helped and he deserved to get in on it, too.

"Rocco, this is the real deal," Connor explained seriously. "Evil man, dead man."

And even though it wasn't Connor who did it, this one had his day.


	2. Rope Part One

_A/N__: If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day._

_Teaser__: It turns out, rope has more uses than either of them had ever considered._

_Warning__: Contains character death._

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**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

_**Rope**_

**Candra Hastings**

Connor couldn't stand funerals.

The sad faces, the tears, the stiff air that suffocated everything. He'd only been to a few through all his years, and he remembered each and every one in excruciating detail. He hadn't been able to attend Rocco's as they were on the run at the time. His father's had been held in Ireland while his sons had been incarcerated in the Hoag.

Romeo's was the most recent funeral he could remember and it had been a very sad affair. But at least he'd had Murphy there to help him through.

Now, it was time for another funeral. Connor wouldn't be attending this one. He couldn't.

He thought back over last night's events...

It had been wrong. All wrong. He should've seen it. He should've known that there were too many of them. He should've planned better. But he hadn't. He'd just gone on like they'd always done and now _this_ was the result.

He recalled coming home last night, dragging his twin's bloody body along with him into their ratty, old apartment. They'd been going after a local mafioso who'd been stirring up trouble for a while now. It had been carefully planned by Connor. They'd gone in, guns blazing. Murphy with his Rambo knife and Connor with his rope.

They'd been outnumbered. There were so many of them. So many bullets. So many had hit their mark. But it didn't matter how many of them there were. Connor and Murphy had killed every last one of them. They'd carried out their holy mission.

Connor had taken a bullet to the arm and to the leg. He was bleeding badly and it hurt like hell, but that all faded to the back of his mind when he saw something horrible. His brother lying bleeding on the floor.

Murphy had fallen.

He was riddled with bullets. Everywhere that Connor looked, he'd seen blood. He couldn't even process the image. He'd just picked his brother up and carried him out to their car, whispering comforting words and prayers the whole way. He'd set him gently in the passenger seat and then drove like a thing possessed towards their home.

He'd carried Murphy inside. His brother was so heavy and his skin was burning up as Murphy went into shock from his wounds. The very life poured out of him, blood drops rolling down his lifeless fingertips, falling to the ground, staining the dingy carpet crimson, each splatter of red another second of life that was lost.

But Connor couldn't think about that because that was unacceptable.

He forgot his own wounds and took Murphy to his bed. He laid his twin town gently, brushing the hair from his eyes which were wide in pain, glazed and unseeing. He painstakingly removed all the bullets from his brother's torn flesh, trying to not hear the agonized sounds that tore from Murphy's lips.

Connor couldn't tell you what was worse. When Murphy's screams had echoed harshly on the four bare walls while he'd pressed the iron to his brother's mutilated skin, or when the screaming had slowly stopped as those blue eyes had closed.

But Connor had had to do it. Because he was supposed to take care of Murphy. He was supposed to protect him. And Connor... for the first time ever, had failed.

And then, because Murphy had been threatening to close his eyes, Connor shook him awake. He couldn't let him sleep, or he knew that Murphy would never get up again. He'd laid out on the bed next to him and tapped his face every time his eyes would droop or his head would lull, whispering words of encouragement the whole time. He'd put pressure on the wounds, trying to contain all of the blood in his brother's broken body.

He'd known Murphy had suffered. He'd seen the pain on his face and heard the low groans that had escaped him. And he'd tried to distract him from the pain by running his fingers through his hair, watching the blood flakes fly. He'd whispered softly to him all night long. He'd squeezed his hand to let him know that he wasn't alone. He'd felt that hand grow colder and colder as the sun rose.

He'd done everything he could've, but it hadn't been enough to save his twin.

Sometime through the night, Murphy MacManus had slipped away in his brother's arms. Connor had known that after a while that he'd been clinging to a dead body, laying just where he was now. His fingers had gone numb long ago, but he still clutched onto his brother's freezing hand.

There had been no final words between them. If Connor was honest with himself, Murphy had been dead before they'd even gotten back to the apartment. There had been no chance of saving him. And now Connor was utterly alone for the first time in his life with a funeral to attend.

But he couldn't do it.

He couldn't fathom another day without his twin. They'd never been separated before. They'd come into this world together, grown up together, played, fought, and killed together. And now one was gone and the other was left alone, finding it an impossible situation.

Connor could still feel Murphy's Rambo knife pressed in between their bodies, strapped to his brother's hip. It was a reminder of a time when his twin had teased him for his beloved rope and Connor teased him right back for his stupid blade. Now, he'd give anything to hear those words again.

_"That's stupid,"_ Murphy had said all those years ago, _"Name one thing you're going to need rope for."_

_"You never know what you're gonna need it for,"_ Connor had shot back.

Now, with his dead brother laying by him, Connor could think of a thing or two that he could use rope for.

He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Murphy's head, feeling the cool skin under his lips. He knew then that he was going to do the right thing because he just couldn't be without Murphy and his warmth.

Connor then peeled himself away from the bloody bed. His arm and leg that had never been tended to flared with flames of agony, but he wouldn't be able to feel them in a few minutes. He wouldn't be able to feel anything.

Connor struggled to his feet and found where he'd dropped his rope last night., discarded by the door. It was crusted with blood, but that didn't matter. Murphy was gone, so nothing mattered.

He went and picked it up. He unwound it before pulling a chair towards the spot under the ceiling fan. He climbed up and tied one end around the appliance before tying the other end around his own neck. "Father, forgive me for this sin," he prayed as he crossed himself. He loved God, and he

truly was sorry for committing this act against him, but for Connor, there just wasn't another way. He couldn't live this half life, because that's what it was without Murphy

Connor's toes edged closer and closer to the end of the chair. He took one last glance at his brother's body, hoping that he would sit up and laugh, that this was all some terrible nightmare, but he knew that it wouldn't happen. And seeing that lifeless expression on his brother's usually bright features pushed Connor to take that last step.

"I'm comin', Murph-"

It turns out, rope has more uses than either of them had ever considered.


	3. Through the Basement

_A/N__: If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day. This is for VeritasVamp._

_Teaser__: They'd been captured. They were to be interrogated. And Connor couldn't help but feel it was his fault._

_Warning__: Contains character death depicted from the movie and violence._

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**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

_**Through the Basement**_

**Candra Hastings**

They'd tried to get in through the basement.

They'd thought that there would be less guards in the lower levels of the house. At least, that's what Connor had thought, and he was always the one with the plan. But he'd been wrong, and it weighed heavily on him that his choice had ended them _here_.

He'd gone in first. He felt it was his duty to do so, being the oldest. He didn't care what Murphy said, he _was_ the oldest. He just knew. He could feel it in his blood, the need to protect his brother and his friend.

Because he'd _known_ that Yakavetta's house could've been the most deadly hit they'd made yet. He'd _known_ something could've gone horribly wrong like it had. He just didn't know that it could've gone _this_ wrong.

It had seemed clear. It really had. He wouldn't have allowed Murphy and Rocco to follow him if it hadn't. But he'd been wrong. Very wrong.

They'd been walking down the dark, narrow hallways of Papa Joe's basement when Connor had turned the corner and seen a pack of them waiting. He didn't have time to warn Murphy or Rocco before he'd been pistol whipped across the face.

The blow had blinded him with pain. He couldn't see a thing as he felt two meaty pairs of hands wrench his arms behind his back. He heard Rocco yell and Murphy roaring curses in a multitude of languages. He heard the sounds of a scuffle that equated to his brother and friend fighting for their lives.

And he'd heard it all stop when he felt the barrel of a gun press against his temple. It was then that his eyes cleared up and he could see again. However, it was a sight he'd never wished to see.

One of them had Rocco in a headlock. That didn't surprise him. Rocco wasn't a fighter. He didn't have Connor's strength or Murphy's speed. However, he'd given it all he'd had and earned himself a busted nose for it.

Murphy looked relatively good. His nose was also bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice it as he shoved away another mob peon. He was backed into a corner, trying to defend himself as best he could. His eyes were wide and locked onto Connor's deadly predicament.

"Murph-" Connor tried to say as he was jostled harshly for speaking out. He wanted to tell him to run, to escape this death. But even if he did, he knew that Murphy would never leave. He was too loyal for his own good.

"Shut up," one of the men holding Connor hissed. He looked over to Murphy, who stood with bloody fists clenched at his sides. "Get that one."

One of them moved to grab Murphy, but the darker twin snarled at him and ripped away. He went still though when one of the men holding Connor delivered a blow to Connor's ribs.

"Fight," the one with the gun said, "and I'll kill him."

"You're gonna kill us either way," Murphy pointed out, but this time he allowed the man to pull his arms behind him.

"Oh, we're not going to kill you. Not yet. We've got some questions for you first."

And then it dawned on Connor. They'd been captured. And they were to be interrogated. Their end wasn't going to be a pleasant one. Most likely, they'd be tortured or beaten to death. And as the three men were stripped of their weapons and dragged down the long hall to a room with a green door, Connor couldn't help but feel that it was all his fault.

Three metal chairs were brought in. Though Connor cared about Rocco, he hated the fact that he was seated between him and Murphy, separating the twins _that_ much more. He strained to see his brother while he was shoved down harshly into his chair and a set of cuffs was looped through the back of the seat before they were clicked into place around his wrists. The same was done to all of them.

Connor didn't fight. They were too many of them. Too many of them on Murphy. Rocco seemed to agree and didn't fight too much either.

Murphy was of a different opinion. He kicked out at their captors as they chained his legs to the chair. He tried to rip away when they cuffed his hands behind his back, restraining his wild movements. He snarled when one of them delivered a blow to his gut, trying unsuccessfully to not double over with pain.

He only relaxed when they left the room to discuss what to do with their prisoners.

Though none of them spoke at first, it was far from quiet. Whether it was Rocco's panicked gasps or Connor's deep breaths as he tried to keep calm or Murphy's chains clanking as he struggled with his bonds, the room was full of noise.

"Do you guys know what they're gonna do to us?" Rocco asked. He already knew. He'd worked for these guys before he'd joined the twins. He knew what fate they'd been left to.

It was strange, though. Connor had always had a plan. Whether they worked or not, he always had a plan. But he had never even considered that he or his brother would be taken alive. Killed, yes, he'd been prepared for that. Captured and waiting to be tortured? No. For that, he'd never planned.

None of the twins had to answer him. One glance at each other and they knew. They were both clearly thinking the same thing. _How do I make sure my brother gets out of here? _Just as Murphy would do anything to keep Connor safe, Connor would do the same. Connor knew he could take whatever was coming, but to watch them hurt his brother and not be able to do anything about it?

That would be torture in itself.

"Nobody tell these guys anything," Connor directed them. Not cooperating would earn them a beating, but if they caved they would be worthless. They would be dead. _Murphy_ would be dead, and Connor couldn't take that.

"Wasn't plannin' on it," Murphy informed him from the other side of the room. Connor turned to look at his brother, noticing that a dark stain was forming on his upper arm where they'd been shot two days ago. The cauterized skin had been broken.

"You're bleedin', Murph," he brought to his brother's attention.

Murphy shrugged. "You are, too," he nodded to Connor's leg that was slowly bleeding. Ignoring the pain of the damaged skin, the darker twin once again tried to pull at his bonds. He bit the inside of his mouth when he felt the cold bite of metal cutting the skin of his wrists. Connor noticed the movement and saw the blatant red line where the cuffs were hurting Murphy.

"Stop sé, Murphy. Tá tú ag hurting tú féin," Connor spoke in Gaelic so not to alert Rocco, who only knew a few Irish phrases from them. _Stop it, Murphy. You're hurting yourself._

"Más rud é nach bhfuil muid a fháil amach anseo, beidh muid bás," Murphy shot back, continuing to pull at the metal. _If we don't get out of here, we'll die._

He wanted to tell Murphy that he wouldn't die, that Connor wouldn't allow it to happen, but Connor couldn't lie to him. He couldn't promise him that because for all they knew, they would be meeting with the good Lord before the night was over. Instead, he knew he had to reason with him. Only logic would keep his hot headed brother from injuring himself.

"Hurting féin ní ag cabhrú. Beidh siad a dhéanamh gur le haghaidh dúinn," Connor pointed out. _Hurting yourself isn't helping. They'll do that for us._

Before Murphy could reply back, Rocco gave an annoyed sigh. "You know I hate it when you guys do that! We're all gonna be dead soon enough, secrets won't matter."

Connor shot him a glare. He wasn't going to let them die if he could manage it. He just needed to think of a plan!

Before he could say anything else, the door opened. Four men came in. Some cracked their knuckles in an intimidating way. Others tried to walk with a hulking swagger. All in all, Connor could tell that there wasn't really a brain in this group. They were all muscle, tossing their weight around.

However, there was one that seemed a little bigger, a little stronger, and even a little brighter than the others, which he believed gave him the leadership role. It was the one that had ordered Murphy earlier. The one that seemed to be focusing intensely on the darker twin, something that Connor really didn't like.

"We've got a few questions," Leader said calmly, accent sounding Americanized Italian. "You'll answer, whether by choice or if I have to knock it out of your thick skulls. So first question; who's in charge here?"

Leader looked around at them all. Connor held his gaze, hoping his silent defiance would keep the man's attention on him rather than his brother or his friend. However, the man looked away, eyeing Rocco for a moment disinterestedly before landing on Murphy, who glared back at the man.

"It's not Rocco. He's the Funny Man. He doesn't have the brains for this. So that leaves one of you two," he reasoned, gaze flickering between Connor and Murphy. He grinned wickedly. "As soon as one of you admits to being in charge, I'll have him stop."

And just like that, one of them was on Rocco, beating the Italian's face in. Connor and Murphy screamed at him to stop, but they didn't. Not until blood poured from their friend's face.

Connor knew he couldn't escape his bonds. He didn't even try. He just watched and yelled for them to stop while they bashed in Rocco's face. Murphy was more vocal, thrashing and scooting his chair closer and closer to the men, trying desperately to help his friend.

Leader saw Murphy's slow approach and he growled at one of the men behind him to take care of the Saint. One of the brutes leapt at Murphy, punching him in the face before grabbing him by his wounded arm and dragging him away from Rocco. Murphy yelped in pain as the man's thumb dug into his injury and Connor saw red at the sound.

"Get the hell off of him!" he snapped, lurching forward, himself. The one in charge noticed the protective nature, that Connor had protested the abuse of his darker companion, but he didn't make the connection. For that Connor was grateful, even as Leader charged him, punching him solidly in the face. In the ribs. In the bullet wound on his leg.

The room was a mess of blood, gore and unanswered questions and swears. The three captives refused to give, no matter how harsh the beating or how horrible the abuse inflicted on their battered, bloody bodies.

Suddenly, a voice that held authority called to his men. The four left, leaving the three huffing for air. Connor straitened, ignoring the the throb in his cracked ribs. The one on Rocco left without another word while the one beating on Murphy released his prisoner from a chokehold but delivered another unforgiving blow to his battered face before following the others out.

"Murph? Yah alright?" Connor panted, eyeing his brother with fear. Murphy was a mess, and the guilt was weighing on Connor.

"'M'fine," Murphy replied quietly.

Connor wasn't satisfied with the answer, but continued taking innovatory. "Roc?"

"Still living," the Italian replied dryly.

"You're doin' great, fellas. Just stay strong," Connor encouraged just as the men filed back in, this time, followed by the man the three had snuck in to kill in the first place, Papa Joe Yakavetta.

Fear clinched at Connor's heart when the man entered. His thugs wasted no time beginning to uncuff Rocco, to which Murphy again protested. Again, the darker twin was jumped and delivered a blow to the face that didn't seem to faze him. Seeing his friend in peril pushed him to struggle more to the point that all his thug could do was hold him down as best he could, a meaty arm wrapped in a bruising grip around Murphy's neck.

Connor also protested at the treatment of his friend and brother, earning him an attack. Leader punched him mercilessly, forcing him to bite on the inside of his cheek until he could taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth to keep from crying out.

"Calma! Calma!" Papa Joe called as Rocco was held still, remaining pinky finger held out in a threatening manner. Papa Joe smiled at him cruelly before looking him in the eye. "Now, do you have some answers for me?"

Rocco cursed at him, which resulted in having his finger blown off before he was cuffed to his chair again, screaming the whole time when his flesh and bone was blasted away, blood splattering on Connor's face.

Murphy roared in rage, once again thrashing and bucking in his seat against his captor's hold before he was released and the thugs followed their boss out. Connor knew he had to keep a level head. He had to keep them calm, or they would never think of a way out.

"Roc, look at me!" he called desperately. "You'll be fine. Roc!"

But Rocco was too far gone. He'd been driven mad from the pain and there were no words that would calm him. Murphy began to simmer down just a little, but he still pulled at his restraints, as if the more he tried the looser they would get.

Finally, Rocco burned himself out of his tirade and just slumped in his chair, chest heaving with each breath. It was then Papa Joe returned, gun in hand.

Rocco looked up, eyes meeting those of his killer's. Connor and Murphy saw the look in the boss' eyes and they knew what he was going to do. Connor couldn't accept it, though. They couldn't... _Couldn't_ lose Rocco...

"God, no!" Connor prayed out loud, hoping that somehow, the Lord would save his doomed friend.

But it was Rocco's time, because the gun was raised and the bullet fired, embedding in his chest with a thick wet sound as the man was blown back onto the ground, still bound to his chair.

Murphy snapped. He first tried to lunge at Papa Joe as the man left to room, but then he changed his mind and made his way as best he could over to where his friend lay dying on the floor. His chair flipped over and he struggled with the chains, trying to free his hands so he could crawl closer to where Rocco lay dying. When he couldn't, he wriggled closer so that his face was close to Rocco's, feeling his faint breath on his skin.

"No! Roc, no! No!" Connor screamed as he too tried to escape his cuffs and proved unsuccessful.

"Y-You can't stop," Rocco managed to say to them with his final breaths. "You get out of here... Never stop..." And then he breathed his last.

"No!" Murphy screamed in chorus with his brother as he bucked against his chair, "I'm gonna kill 'em! I'm gonna... Gonna..." he sobbed into the bloody shirt of his friend's body.

Connor took a deep, steadying breath. _I'm sorry, Roc._ He had to calm down. He still had Murphy to keep alive and he was going to keep it that way.

"Murph, yah gotta get up. We gotta think of a way outta here."

Murphy sobered at his twin's call, but tears still fell heavily from his blue eyes. He sniffled as he attempted to right his chair, failing the first time and falling harshly on his side before managing to get up. "What can we do, Con?" his voice full of despair, "We're gonna die... Just like Roc..."

"Shut the hell up!" Connor snarled at the very idea of losing Murphy. "We gotta get outta these cuffs."

"What the hell do yah think I've been tryin' ta do?" Murphy shot back, sounding utterly defeated.

Connor thought. And suddenly, it hit him. They needed a free hand, and the only way that was going to happen was for them to do it themselves. "Murph, can yah free one o' your legs?"

Murphy tried, but was unable to. "No, why?"

"'Cause if yah could, we coulda had yah get my cuffs off."

"How's that, then?" Murphy inquired. It still hadn't clicked for him.

"Well, we just gotta get my hand ta fit through the metal," Connor explained.

Murphy caught on. Connor could see it click in his face. "What 'bout you?" the darker asked. "Can yah free a leg?"

Connor yanked with all he could on his legs, managing to free his right in a lucky stroke. They both grinned at the good fortune. But their smiles both fell when they realized the part that came next.

"M-Maybe we can think of something else," Connor began, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. Dread pooled in his stomach at the very idea of what he may have to do.

Murphy's lips lined tightly as he stared back into his eye's match. "No, Con. Tis the only way." With that, he turned his chair around so that his back was a foot away from his brother. Connor could see the tension in his brother's body and felt sick thinking about what was going to happen.

Still, he had to keep Murphy alive. Even if that meant breaking him.

"Are yah ready, Murphy?" Connor asked softly.

"Just a moment," Murphy replied. He leaned back while he slid the loop of the cuff up higher on his arm so that Connor wouldn't crunch the metal onto him. He then managed to grasp the fabric of his shirt in his mouth, giving him something to bite on to muffle the screams of pain he would soon be omitting. "Do it," he mumbled around the fabric. When the pause became too much, he turned to look at his twin. "Do it!"

He turned around and he didn't get to see the hurt in Connor's eyes. He didn't see his twin mouth the words _I'm sorry_. He only saw white hot pain as Connor's boot crashed down onto the bones and tendons of his hand, mangling the appendage to the point that Murphy was able to pull the lump of flesh through the metal loop to freedom.

He tried to wipe away the tears before Connor could see them and feel guilty for it, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Connor felt terrible for what he'd done, his twin's muffled screams still echoing in his ears. He wanted nothing more than to take Murphy in his arms and tell him how sorry he was for what he'd done, to get them out of here alive so he could tend to his brother's broken hand. But he was still chained.

"Murph, yah alright?"

"'M f-f-fine," Murphy answered as best he could. His throat felt raw and battered, but he'd never let Connor know that. He felt bad enough that his brother had to do that to him. He knew Connor had suffered more emotionally from what he'd done than what he'd felt on the physical end.

Murphy allowed Connor to break his chair by kicking it, freeing one of his legs and allowing him to make a weapon from the twisted metal. They heard one of the brutes coming back down the hall and Murphy backed against the wall so he could take him by surprise. Connor watched him the whole time, feeling helpless as he was still bound. What if the man came in and killed Murphy right in front of him?

No, he couldn't think like that.

It didn't happen, anyways. Murphy took the man down, even with his injury and he rifled through the body's clothes with his good hand until he found a set of keys that he used to free Connor. As soon as his hands were free, the fairer twin ignored his own body's aches and pains and threw his arms around his brother, feeling Murphy's heart pound against his own chest, letting him know he was alive and safe.

"I'm sorry, Murphy."

Murphy leaned into the embrace, unhurt hand snaking it's way around his brother's shoulders. "We're fine, Con. We're fine."

Connor heaved a shaky breath and pulled away. He gently reached out to his brother's broken hand and inspected it with the fingers of a ghost. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would've been, but it was bad enough. Even worse, he'd been the one to do it.

"Murph," he croaked, wanting to apologies again. He didn't, though. He just brushed his lips in the gentlest of kisses he could give across the broken knuckles of his twin's hand.

Murphy pulled his brother in for another hug, needing him to know he was fine. "S'kay, Con. We're good."

But the tears Murphy felt wetting his shirt told him that Connor would need time before he believed him. He just couldn't understand the amount of blame that fell on Connor's shoulders and the guilt that weighed on his heart for what had happened to Rocco, for what he'd done to his brother.

All because he'd chosen to go through the basement.


	4. Pit-Bull

_A/N__: I was going to do something else, but today I was bullied so I felt like I needed to vent through creativity before I went all depression mode. So here's just a little one-shot I needed to get out there, because I wish I'd had a Connor there for me today. reedusfan, this contains a bit of kiddie!MacManus just for you, but I'm working on some more kiddie stuff as well._

_Shout-out__: Also, I would really like to thank the following for just being there. It means a lot to me: __**BBC**__, __**VeritasVamp**__, and __**reedusfan**__._

_Teaser__: "I can pick on him because he's my brother," Connor explained calmly to the man he wanted to tear apart, "But if I catch anyone else doin' it, there will be hell to pay."_

**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

_**Pit-Bull**_

**Candra Hastings **

Ever since they were little, Connor had always taken great amusement from teasing his twin.

Whether it was mimicking him, pulling pranks on him, or teasing him in general based on whatever antic Murphy was up to, Connor always found something about his other half to pick on. He was never really mean about it. He wouldn't ever intentionally hurt his brother's feelings for the world. But sometimes, just sometimes, Connor would push a little too far when it came to the jokes.

Like the time when they were seven. The two brothers and a few other boys from school had been playing a bit of football. The kicked the ball around a muddy field all day, scoring point after point until their limbs were sore.

The twins preferred to be on the same team as each other, but all the other kids agreed that they had an unfair telepathic connection that allowed them to cheat because the brothers could read each other so well. In order to appease the other kids, Murphy and Connor usually ended up on opposite teams.

It was commonly known that the twins were equally matched in almost everything. They were both highly intelligent, they were both strong and they were both fast. However, even though no one, even the twins, knew who was the oldest, everyone secretly suspected Connor. Maybe it was his confident, social butterfly personality that contradicted Murphy's more shy, introverted style. Maybe it was the half of an inch that Connor had on his brother.

That half inch was what bothered Murphy the most. _He _was the oldest, darn it! Just once, he needed to be able to prove that he was better than Connor at _something. _That something was sports. Murphy had always been a little faster. He was quick on his feet and had an almost graceful way about him when he moved. Unlike Connor, who had a more direct approach, Murphy was able to glide across the field, something Connor was secretly jealous of.

So when Murphy was sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, kicking the ball with skill as he went, and he ran into a particularly muddy patch of grass, you could say he was more than a little embarrassed when he fell flat on his back.

The field went silent. There was no way that Murphy MacManus, the fasted football player of the first grade could've fallen down. No way. But he had, and Connor couldn't help but soak the moment in.

"Well, Murph, looks like those little legs o' yours gotta wee bit tangled!" he teased his brother, who was still sitting on the field in shock.

Everyone roared with laughter. Everyone but Murphy.

He hadn't meant anything bad by it. He'd just wanted to lighten the mood, to get people talking again. And... he'd secretly wanted to be better at football than Murphy for one moment of his young life. He didn't know that his more sensitive twin would take it so... badly.

When Connor noticed the wide, wet eyes, the tears, the trembling lip, the hurt and accusatory look he was being penned with he felt something in his gut twist violently. Poor Connor had no idea that while he felt inadequate to Murphy on the field, Murphy felt inadequate to Connor about almost everything. He had no idea how much the sport thing mattered to his darker half.

"Screw you, Connor!" Murphy croaked, his throat constricted with embarrassment as he got up and ran away from the crowd of jeering boys.

Connor felt terrible. He hadn't meant to hurt Murphy's feelings, he'd just... Just been a little selfish. And for that, he felt awful. The other boys were still laughing cruelly. Connor knew they were just being kids and that all the blame for Murphy's hurt ego rested on his soldiers, but they hadn't helped the situation, either. Connor saw red. "Shut up!" he growled at them.

And they did. But Connor didn't stick around long enough to care because he was running after his brother as fast as he could.

That night had been the first night that Murphy had gone to bed without speaking to him. Connor begged for forgiveness the whole next day and didn't earn it until he offered to take all of Murphy's chores for the week. If that was the price, he'd pay it. He couldn't stand Murphy being so mad at him. Couldn't stand the glares of hurt where looks of admiration and adoration had been.

And Murphy had forgiven Connor and the two were still each other's best friends twenty years later. Connor had learned how to tease his brother without going overboard for the most part, and Murphy had learned to make light of it all. Even if Connor did go a bit too far sometimes, they quickly got over it by the offer of a beer or a pack of smokes.

So when they were at McGinty's and Connor was calling Murphy who'd had a few more beers than Connor a lightweight, the darker twin paid him no mind.

That is, until the new guy at the bar started getting involved. The twins had no idea what he was doing there, the idiot. Though there was no rule that you had to be Irish to drink at McGinty's, it was a bit of an unspoken fact. So when some annoying idiot Italian started calling Murphy a princess, trying to feed off of Connor's goading, you could say the fairer twin was more than a little annoyed. Especially when the room went quiet, just like the field had those twenty years ago. Once again, Connor was seeing red.

"Look here, bud," Connor started off. Murphy knew where this was going. No matter how bad Connor got with his teasing, if anyone else ever tried to follow suit, they would pay the cost after receiving the same speech. Murphy just rolled his eyes and smiled while he sipped on his current glass of beer as Connor got started, secretly enjoying having a pit-bull for a brother.

"I can pick on him because he's my brother," Connor explained calmly to the man he wanted to tear apart, "But if I catch anyone else doin' it, there will be hell to pay."

The Italian must've seen the deadly look in the blonde's blue eyes. He must've understood the amount of trouble was getting into because he knew to back off. "Look, friend, I didn't mean anything by it. You two guys seem pretty cool. How 'bout I buy you a beer?"

Connor narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if the man was joking or not but he decided he wasn't. He nodded and stuck out a hand, fine with the apology he and Murphy had received. "I'm Connor and this here is my baby twin, Murphy," he introduced.

Murphy smacked the back of Connor's head for the baby brother comment, but didn't say anything else. The Italian smiled at them both. He could tell he was going to like them.

"I'm Rocco."


	5. Angel

_A/N__: If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day. This is for my friend BBC who asked for something bad to happen to her favorite Saint. So here's your Connor whump, my dearie._

_Author's Rant__: So here I am, walking around the comic book store and I find the Boondock Saint comic, In Nomine Patris. And it was twenty bucks. Guess how much money I had in my pocket? Twenty bucks. Big shoutout to my Nana for the tax money. Freaking awesome comic, guys. I read it in like two hours. Let's just say, there's a convo in it that goes like this: Murphy:"Why do I gotta be the one in da trunk?" Connor: "Cause you're best at sounding like a little girl."_

_Teaser__: "Yah didn't pray for their souls, Murph," Connor said quietly as his twin wiped the blood from his face. "They didn't deserve it," his darker half replied like it was common knowledge._

* * *

**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

_**Angel**_

**Candra Hastings**

To be honest, Connor couldn't even remember what the fight had been about.

He didn't even remember who had started it. All he knew was that a few hours ago, he and Murphy had gotten into one of their famous quarrels and Murphy had spat a few choice words at him before he'd stormed out of McGinty's, leaving Connor feeling unsettled at the lack of his constant companion's presence.

It wasn't that he and Murphy had never gotten in a fight before. In fact, they'd had some terrible ones. It just came with the whole brother territory. The closer two people are, the more they tend to have friction. Between the MacManus twins, it was just the same.

Sometimes, the fights would just be minor bickering that would lead to the two buying each other a drink. Sometimes, a scuffle would be the result, the brothers rolling around on the floor with each other, fighting for dominance over the other, never really trying to hurt each other. Those were more quarrels or bickers that could be cleared up with some brotherly verbal sparring.

But then there were the _fights_. And those were not pleasant. Connor was even a bit surprised that they hadn't come to blows tonight. He figured it was good that Murphy left when he did so that a brawl had been a avoided, but Connor still didn't like the idea of being parted from his other half for too long.

Because even if they didn't like each other that much some days, they would always love each other. They were brothers. Nothing would change that.

Still, Connor felt a tad like a jerk. Murphy had been gone a few hours now and a lot of drinks later, Connor had the bad feeling that he'd been the one wrong in the fight, even if he couldn't even remember what the topic had been about. He just remembered that it had been stupid and that it wasn't something that should've caused the rift between the twins that it had.

So Connor did what any Irishman would do when he was upset about something and feeling low about himself. He drank. A lot. Not enough that he couldn't walk out the door and to his apartment, but enough his beautiful Irish accent was becoming thick and slurred as he talked his way out of the bar with Doc.

"A-A-Are you sh-sh-sh-sure you don't want a cab, s-s-sonny?" Doc asked kindly as Connor dropped some bills to cover his and Murphy's tab for the night.

"Ooh, yeah, Doc. I'mma be jus' fine," Connor assured him as the room spun just a bit. He recovered before his friend could catch on and he headed out the door. "Apartment is jus' down the street."

"I c-c-could c-c-call M-Murphy for yah i-i-if yah want," Doc persisted, hoping Connor would take up his offer. He knew the two hadn't parted on good terms for the night, but he knew Murphy would always show up for his brother.

"Ohhh, no. No t'ank yah, Doc. Murph doesn't wanna drag 'emself out for his pain o' ah brudder," Connor slurred.

Doc didn't like letting him leave when he was obviously not up to par, but he couldn't tell him no, either. Connor could take care of himself. He was a big boy and he could make it home just fine. He patted the young man on the back and held the door open for him so Connor could stumble out the door. He let him keep his pride and went to make a phone call.

What Connor didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Connor managed to stay on his feet as he dragged his weary bones down the street. He was tired and his eyelids kept trying to droop, but he used sheer will to stay awake as he made the long, lonely trek home down the empty street. It was dark. It was way past sunset, probably getting past midnight. Connor didn't know. His phone had died quickly after Murphy had left him.

Connor wasn't horribly drunk though. Yes, he was buzzed, but he had learned a long time ago how to handle his alcohol. He was alert enough to be able to hear the sounds of footsteps behind him.

He didn't let the person behind him know he was alerted to their presence yet. He quickened his pace, just to see if the steps behind him did the same. When they did, Connor regretted not packing heat earlier that evening.

Connor clenched his jaw. His head was swimming from being under the influence, but he had to come up with a plan. The way he saw it, he had two options. He could either keep walking home and pray he made it before a confrontation could happen, or he could turn around and meet his stalker head on.

While Connor was usually up for a good fight, he knew he wasn't in the condition to take on more than one guy at the time. But could he take that gamble? If Murphy had been there to back him up, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. He'd have turned around and given the guy following him a good punch to the face.

But Murphy wasn't here. Murphy had gone home. Connor was alone.

And that's when Connor knew that his first option to continue on to the apartment wasn't an option. He couldn't lead this shadow of his to his brother. Murphy was probably asleep by now. If Connor brought home trouble, they could take his twin by surprise.

Connor couldn't allow that to happen.

Last time Connor had brought home trouble, Russians had kicked in their door, cuffed him to a toilet, and dragged his brother into the back alley so they could shoot him in the head and toss his body in the trash as punishment to Connor. But Connor hadn't let them kill Murphy then and he wouldn't let anyone kill him now. It just wasn't going to happen.

He had to play this smart. The threat to his and Murphy's life had cleared his head a bit and now he could think. He needed to get somewhere with people. Whoever was following him would be less likely to attack him if other people were around. But that was where the problem was.

The street he was on had two directions he could take. One was an alley. It let out into a more

populated area of the city. It was long, kinda thin, dark, and very creepy. The other direction wasn't really an option. It was a dead end that walked right by the twins' apartment. That was too close to Murphy, Connor wouldn't risk it. That left the alley.

Swallowing his fear, Connor turned down the dark, narrow pathway. It was when he saw the figure of someone standing at the other end of the ally that he figured out what had happened.

They'd herded him. They had him right where they wanted him. He was trapped.

He knew without turning around that there was at least one person behind him. But he still had to try, so he spun on his heel right into someone's fist, sending him staggering back into the wall.

Connor's face made impact with the rough brick, causing him to see stars. His head cleared instantly from the alcohol that he consumed when another fist collided with his face. When he was able to pause a moment to blink away the blinding patches of light that impaired his vision, he took note that not only was there the guy at the other end of the alley who was slowly making his way to Connor and his assailant, but another man other than the one who'd attacked Connor. Three in total. Three against one.

Connor knew how this was going to play out and he sent a silent prayer of thanks that Murphy wasn't here.

"Get 'em," the one who had been at the other end of the alley commanded the one who'd struck Connor. Connor couldn't see any of their faces, but he could distinctly see three shapes closing in on him. He had to fight, or this was going to end badly.

His assailant came up behind him in the dark. In a swift move that Connor didn't see coming, the man had Connor's arm in a firm grip and was yanking it up to a painful position behind his back so that he couldn't move. The man reached out for Connor's other hand but in a moment of panic, Connor tossed his head back, catching his aggressor in the face with his skull.

The man behind him yowled like a cat and stepped back to clutch his face. "He broke my nose!"

Connor felt pride swell in him. He was going to give these three a good fight. As quick as he could he launched himself at the one who seemed to be in charge, the one who'd commanded the others. His fist met with the man's face, making the man stumble back a bit.

"I said get him!" the man growled while wiping angrily at his face.

Before Connor could react, both guys that had come from behind him were holding tightly onto his arms. He struggled with their hold on him, trying to get away, but there was no give. Connor was caught.

The one in charge came forward and drove his fist into Connor's gut. Connor would've doubled over from the force of the blow, but the men holding on to him wouldn't allow it.

The next hit went to his face, his teeth slicing open the tender flesh of his mouth. He spat at the man who'd caused the damage, fixing the shadow in the dark with a murderous glare.

The man laughed coldly. "Not so tough without your brother, are you?"

When Connor stilled, the man knew he'd struck a nerve. They'd been watching him. They'd been at McGinty's

"Oh, yeah. He left you, didn't he?" the man asked as he pummeled Connor, hitting out at wherever he could find while Connor was held back by his men.

"Left you alone."

Hit. Blood poured from Connor's mouth.

"Left you to the bad men in the dark."

Hit. Connor's nose cracked ominously.

"Left you defenseless."

Hit. Something snapped in Connor's ribcage.

"Left you to get mugged by some guys who noticed you got a little too drunk."

Hit. Was this guy wearing rings?

"He doesn't care. Doesn't care that they'll find your body tomorrow."

Hit. Hit. Hit.

By the time he was done, Connor wasn't even fighting back anymore. The abuse to his body had been too much, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as the words had. Still, Connor knew they were untrue. If Murphy had any idea that Connor was in trouble, Connor knew his brother wouldn't hesitate to come to his aid, no matter how bad their stupid, pointless argument had been.

Murphy loved him. No matter what. And no idiot was going to convince Connor otherwise.

The men must've grown tired of holding Connor's limp, broken, bloody body because they dropped him to the cold, trash strewn floor of the alley. Broken glass pierced his abused skin as he lay there in agony.

He felt the wind of the boot flying towards him before he felt the impact of the kick itself. It crashed into his face, causing him to roll away, back arching painfully from the ground as a muffled cry escaped his swollen, split lips.

That was the first kick. Others rained down on him. They targeted his tender ribs, his long legs, his spine, his shoulders and his head. Everything was fair game as the three spat nasty words at him in the dark of the night.

"You're going to die tonight," one of the commented while kicking him square in the ribs.

"All alone and in the dark," someone else said while attacking his chest.

"And they'll find your body in the morning here in the trash," the leader continued while delivering his own punishment.

"And then when your brother cries over your body, we may just come kill him, too." Kick, kick, kick. Snap, crack, crunch.

"He won't care. He won't cry. He'll probably thank us for getting rid of a waste of space in his life." Kick, kick, kick. Connor groaned as he tried to curl into a ball, just exposing his spine to the abuse.

But then suddenly, it all stopped as the leader bent down to fist a hand full of Connor's hair, yanking his head up so he could glare at his face. "So tell me, where's your brother now?"

Before Connor could even glorify the question with a sarcastic remark, a black shape came flying out of the darkness, knocking the one in Connor's face away. Connor couldn't see well, but the savior from the shadows looked exactly like some kind of dark, evil angel come to rescue him.

The angel took on all three men, a rage behind his movements making him faster than anything Connor had seen. He could only watch in his damaged state as the angel attacked with a vicious hit to one of the man's face. He kicked another in the kneecap, breaking the bone so he couldn't move as he focused on the leader.

While the angel attacked the leader with a merciless fist, Connor saw that one of muggers was sneaking up on the dark savior. "Behind you!" Connor managed to call out, the sound ripping violently from his raw throat.

The angel spun around, and glinting like a holy sword of flame in the dark, a flash of metal shown as he shot the one with the injured knee and the one sneaking up behind him. The two bodies fell to the ground as the angel turned back to the leader.

The leader fought back, feeling his impending doom. He managed to use the angel's distraction to knock the gun away and out of his hand. Before the angel could go to retrieve the weapon, the leader pulled a knife.

Connor tried to go to his rescuer's aid, but his sore body just wouldn't allow it. He could only watch as the man lunged at the angel. The angel deflected the first attack but the second found the blade slicing open the flesh of his arm.

A low sound like a growl came from the angel as he snuck around the bloody knife. His fingers extended into a flat blade as they darted out to jab the man in the throat. The little snap of his windpipe collapsing made Connor jump as the body slumped to the ground.

The dark angel flew to his side. Gentle hands reached out to him, smoothing the blond and bloodied hair from his face as the angel came closer to him. Connor relaxed under the familiar touch.

"Yah shouldn't... Shouldn't have..." Connor rasped to the figure.

"Shuddup, Connor. How bad is it?"

"First yah... yah tell me ta shuddup, but then... yah ask me a... a question. Only... Only you, Murph."

Murphy sighed as he wedged an arm under Connor's shoulders. "Yeah, and only you would crack jokes at a time like this." Secretly, Murphy was glad his twin was being playful. It gave him hope that he would be okay. He was so mad at himself. If he'd stayed with Connor at the bar... If he'd been there to protect him, this wouldn't have ever happened.

Connor was flirting with consciousness as Murphy lifted him to his feet. He tried to hold his own weight, but his body was dead to him. Murphy bore his full weight as his vision began to fog. It was when Murphy began to walk out of the ally, dragging his brother with him that Connor remembered.

"Murph? Aren't... Aren't yah gonna... Gonna finish it?" Pray for them. Pray for the dead.

Murphy never replied and Connor must've passed out because the next thing he could remember, he was being propped up in his bed in the apartment. Murphy lowered Connor's bloody form down on the mattress, sitting him up against the backboard of the bed.

Connor watched with swollen black eyes as Murphy rummaged around the kitchen in the refrigerator. He pulled out two beers before digging under the sink for the first aid kit. He then came to Connor's side and offered him one of the beers.

Connor took it and moved to pop the can open, only to have Murphy's hand lightly smack his. He glared at his brother as best he could with his battered face. "What?"

"It's for your face, dummy," Murphy explained. "The cold will help the swelling. When it warms, then you can drink it."

Connor nodded and regretted it as his head throbbed and his vision swam. He sucked in a deep breath to right himself, but it only hurt his battered ribs. Murphy sat the second beer aside as well as the kit.

"Can yah take of your shirt, or should we just tear it off?" he asked his injured brother.

Connor didn't like his tone. It was stiff and cold, very unlike Murphy's kind and loving nature. Was he still mad at him for the fight earlier at the bar? Connor hoped not. Usually, he could read Murphy well. He knew him just as well as, if not better, than himself. But tonight, Murphy's usually warm blue eyes had frozen over to a glassy ice. It almost scared Connor to see Murphy so cold. Especially since he couldn't figure the cause.

Connor moved to pull off his shirt but his muscles trembled in agony. He gritted his teeth against the pain and moved to try again but Murphy's hand caught his arm gently. "I've got it," he said quietly.

Connor managed a small nod of thanks as Murphy pulled scissors from the first aid kit and cut away Connor's bloody shirt. When the ruined fabric was gone, it exposed the horrible cuts and bruises under, marring Connor's torso. Murphy sucked in a deep breath at the sight of his twin but he didn't say a word. He just pulled a disinfectant wipe from the kit, tore open the package and set to cleaning Connor up.

Connor figured that now was as good a time as any to ask Murphy what was bothering him about the alley. After all, it wasn't like Murphy could be any madder. Because Connor was sure, that was anger in his twin's eyes.

"Yah didn't pray for their souls, Murph," Connor said quietly as his twin wiped the blood from his face.

"They didn't deserve it," his darker half replied like it was common knowledge.

"Everyone deserves forgiveness," Connor disagreed gently.

"Not them," Murphy shook his head, anger causing his usually steady hands to tremble. "Not after what they did. What they tried to do."

"I'm fine, Murph."

"No, you're not, Connor!" the younger twin yelled, backing away from his injured brother in order to get control of himself. "You almost died tonight. They almost killed you an' it would've been my fault!"

"How in the bleedin' hell would it have been your fault, Murph? Yah came and got me," Connor defended.

Murphy refused to look at Connor. His head hang like it was too heavy to hold up, like he carried the weight of the world. "I only showed because Doc called an' said you'd decided to walk home."

Oh. So that why Doc let him leave. Connor sighed and leaned forward, placing a hand on Murphy's shoulder to comfort him. He didn't want Murphy to feel guilty. Connor had done his fair share of leaving Murphy after an argument before. This had just been the first time something like this had happened.

"Why didn't yah call me, Con? Did yah think I wouldn't come for yah? Do yah really think that little of me?" Murphy shuddered under his touch. Connor could tell Murphy was fighting tears.

Connor was shocked. Murphy thought Connor hadn't called him because he was mad? "I didn't call because I figured I had been a jerk an' I didn't wanna bother yah. It had nothin' to do with yah, Murph, it was about me."

"I'm so sorry. So sorry, Con. I can't believe I coulda lost yah tonight," Murphy croaked, voice thick with unshed tears.

So Murphy was mad at himself. Not at Connor. The elder twin patted the younger gently to let him know all was forgiven. A warm, wet feeling had him stopping, though. "Murph, you're bleedin'," he panicked feeling blood seeping from the knife wound in his brother's arm.

Murphy gave a watery chuckle before wiping at his eyes, the mood growing lighter. "You've gotta be kiddin' me. Have yah seen yourself?"

Connor didn't care about how bad he looked. All he knew was that Murphy, his little brother, his other half, was bleeding. His protective nature pushed him as he leaned back, forcing away the wince that his ribs forced out of him before grabbing the gauze. He came back up, lifted Murphy's sleeve to expose a gash in his skin. It wasn't deep, but it was long.

With a loving touch, Connor wrapped the bandages around the wound. When it was covered and he could no longer see red seeping though, he tore it off from the roll. He looked up when done, finding Murphy's cool eyes gazing back at him, no longer full of anger or fear. Just love, and understanding.

Murphy smiled a soft thanks as he guided Connor to lay back on the bed and he set to work fixing not only Connor, but their relationship. He cleaned wounds, bandaged cuts left by rings and glass, and wrapped ribs that were undeniably cracked while Connor held the warming beer to his swollen face.

It was three rolls of gauze, an odd tear drop or two and a six-pack later when both twins had collapsed on the same bed from exhaustion and were drifting to a sound sleep in the protective brotherly arms of each other that Connor said a little prayer of thanks for his dark guardian angel.


	6. Rope Part Two

___A/N__:__If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day._

_Dedication__:This is for my dad. He read Rope and wanted more, so I managed to finagle it, because when your dad makes a fanfic request, by George, you do it!_

_Teaser__: There was once a time when a person was to be executed by hanging that if the rope being used broke, it was dvine intervention. An act of God, saying that the person was to live. The person, if the event occurred, was set free._

* * *

**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

_**Rope Part Two**_

**Candra Hastings**

"I'm comin', Murph," Connor whispered before he took the final step that would lead him to oblivion. The final step to reuniting with Murphy.

It was as if time slowed to drag out that very last second of his life. Connor stepped away from the safety of the chair he stood on. He could feel the rope around his neck snap taunt, the rough fibers of the braided material rubbing the sensitive skin of his neck. He felt the suspension of his body in air as the oxygen was strangled out his lungs. He waited to feel his neck break and his soul leave his body to join his twin in death.

But it never happened. Instead, Connor felt the rope snap. His body dropped like a thousand pounds to the ground, landing him on all four, hands and knees slamming forcefully into the solid floor that saved his life by some miracle.

And Connor breathed. He felt the air rush in through his nose and his gaping mouth. He felt the precious oxygen expand his deprived lungs. Life pulsed through him. The beat of his own heart hammered in his chest and throbbed painfully through his head. His body trembled as he took in what had happened, as he realized that by God's will, he'd been saved.

Because what else could it have been?

There was once a time when a person was to be executed by hanging that if the rope being used broke, it was divine intervention. An act of God, saying that the person was to live. The person, if the event occurred, was set free.

The only explanation Connor had was that is must not have been his time. How else could you explain it? It hadn't been his weight that pulled the fan from the ceiling, freeing him from his chosen grim fate. The appliance was still mounted where it had always been when he and Murphy had bought the crappy apartment.

It hadn't been the knot Connor had tied around his neck. He'd made sure that wouldn't be the problem, because even if God was saying it wasn't his time, Connor desperately wished with all his heart it was. No, the knot was still tied firmly in place around his rope raw neck. That hadn't been it.

What had been his saving grace proved to the fact that the rope had managed to snap in half. Connor had no idea how it happened. The rope had been perfect before he'd attempted to kill himself with it. But somehow, almost like a magic trick, it had just snapped for no apparent reason, the frayed edges testament to what's he'd tried to do.

Leaving Connor alive. Very much so. In fact, he couldn't ever remembering a time when he'd been so alert. The apartment was silent other than the sound of the other half of the rope still tethered to the fan gently swishing in the air. Other than that, there was no sound. It was deadly quiet, probably on the account that the only other person in the room other than Connor was dead.

Murphy. Murphy was gone. He'd been dead for hours now and Connor still couldn't accept the fact. Accept the fact that his brother, his twin, had been killed. That he was now alone in this world.

They'd never been separated before. As babies, they'd slept in the same crib. They'd shared the same room as children and into their adolescent years. They'd moved out together and gotten this apartment together. Never in their whole lives had they been parted.

But now, one of their lives was over, and the other wished he was dead as well.

However, he also truly believed that he'd been saved for a reason. Connor could see no other explanation that he was alive other than the fact God had willed it so. There was further purpose for him on earth.

But to Connor, the only thing he'd ever really loved in this world was laying lifeless on his bed.

Connor forced his weary body over to Murphy. His darker half almost looked peaceful laying there, like he was only asleep and he would wake up soon enough to yell at Connor for being a bleedin' idiot for trying to kill himself. Then they would get over it, move on, share a beer and enjoy each other's company for the night, all the while Connor sending grateful prayers to The Lord for saving his twin.

But Connor knew better than that. There were no "what if's","maybe's", or "coulda-been's". Murphy was dead. He had been for a few hours now. And he'd left Connor behind to mourn for him.

So that's what Connor did. He crawled to his brother's side and took his tattooed hand, tears falling as he read Aequitas inked there, the latin word for justice. Together, with Connor's Veritas, truth, they'd been a working force, a balanced machine that worked in perfect harmony together. Yin and Yang. To have one function, you needed the other.

It seemed ironic to Connor, because to him, there was no justice in Murphy leaving him like this. Connor was supposed to the the warrior, the protector. Murphy had been the innocent, the more tender of the two. Connor was supposed to go first, because he'd never prepared himself to lose Murphy. Now, Connor was just left behind with the cold hard truth of a broken heart.

Connor didn't know how long he'd laid there, clutching onto Murphy's cold, stiff hand. It bothered him most how still his twin was. Murphy had always been energetic, finger's dancing as he smoked a cigarette or trailing down the beads of his rosary in prayer. Now, he would always be still, frozen forever in mock-sleep.

Connor mourned. He was silent for a while, but after a bit, the noiseless room began to eat away at him, screaming his loss, reminding him how alone he was.

Connor began to speak. He talked about anything and everything. He talked to Murphy about Ireland, and about how much he missed their homeland and that he hoped heaven looked like it. He even went as far as asking Murphy if there was green grass and rolling hills where he was now, half expecting an answer and being left disappointed when he never got one.

So Connor continued to talk. He talked about God, their mission, about their Ma and Da, and Rocco and Romeo, and Doc's bar, McGinty's. Connor confessed about the time he'd cheated off a test off Murphy in the third grade and about how the guilt had eaten away at him until he'd confessed to the teacher about it. He told Murphy about how much he missed him and that he loved him and that he was sorry. He'd never said it enough.

And he told him that he didn't think he could move on from losing him. That he didn't want to move on from him. That Murphy would always be a part of this cursed half-life that God had willed him to live. He told his twin that he would carry his memory with him every day until he was finally allowed to be with him again. He told him that for Murphy, he would push on and try to make him proud.

And then Connor moved on. He picked himself up and dealt with everything he had to. He arranged Murphy's funeral, got to deal with calling his mother to tell her that her son, her baby was dead. He dealt with the grief, but he never felt whole again, even as the years passed.

And the years did pass. Connor went through the motions of life. Those first few harsh months, he'd only managed to drag himself to work and church. After a bit, he forced himself for Murphy's sake to get out some. He never went to McGinty's again unless it was to see Doc. But he couldn't ever stay long because it felt wrong to be there without his twin by his side.

Connor saved up a little extra money. He went to the tattoo parlor and got himself some fresh ink. Above his heart, where Murphy had always carried their father's name, Connor had his lost twin's name engraved into his flesh. It was styled like Murphy's tattoo had been, the name done in cursive and underlined with a fanciful wave. Though the tattoo was only symbolic, it still felt good to have that little part of his brother with him at all times, even if he still felt hollow inside.

But one day, Connor felt that hollow place fill up just a bit. He met the woman that would become his wife in a convenience store buying a pack of smokes. The two had exchanged numbers and had made dates periodically for the next year. They'd grown close, and soon, she was the only thing keeping him going, Murphy's death still haunting him every waking day.

She'd asked about the tattoo. She'd teased him about it, asking if she had some competition to be worried about. He then had to tell her. He had to tell her that he'd once had a twin and that he was dead and had been for a least two years now. He had to tell her about how much it killed him, how empty he felt because of it. And he'd told her that only she was able to drive back the darkness that had engulfed him when Murphy's light had ceased to shine.

A few months later, he proposed to her. She'd said yes, and the two had gotten married. A few years after that, they'd had their first child. A baby boy who had her delicate, small nose, Connor's sandy hair, and Murphy's deep blue eyes and radiant smile. It had about broken his heart when his wife, his beautiful, kind wife had asked if it was okay to name him Murphy.

And they'd raised Murphy together. Sometimes, Connor would daydream that his brother had lived and reared his own family, that their wives had cooked dinners together, that their children had played together. That they'd been allowed to grow into old men together. And then he would snap back to reality and remember that his twin was gone and was his own guardian angel now.

Connor tucked Murphy into bed. His son begged him for a bedtime story, one about his uncle Murphy, and he could never deny those blue eyes that belonged to his lost twin. He told him about the time Murphy and he had tried to make a tire swing in Ireland and had failed miserably, resulting in Murphy winding up in the hospital for stitches. Connor had held his twin's hand for comfort as the nurse had fixed his brother's bloody head.

His throat was tight and swollen with emotion. And suddenly, he was back in that room again, Murphy's bloody body laying cold, stiff and lifeless by him. And the rope was around his neck again as he took that final step towards his brother.

"I'm comin', Murph."

Connor MacManus was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side from the ceiling fan, joining his brother in death.

Because as nice as that life sounded, Connor couldn't do it. You just couldn't have justice without truth and on that day, God had allowed both of his sons to come home.

* * *

_**Mahoney: "Thirty-seven seconds. Great, well done; now we wait."**_

_**Mr. Magorium: "No, we breathe, we pulse, we regenerate. Our hearts beat, our minds create, our souls ingest. Thirty-seven seconds well used is a lifetime." **_

_**-Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium**_

_This chapter is in homage to: _**An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce**


	7. Secrets

_A/N: If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day. This is for reedusfan who wanted kiddie!MacManus. I've done so many darker inputs to this story, I wanted to do something a tad fluffy._

_Author's Rant: So Rope Part Two made my dad tear up. Mission accomplished! Next chapter is going back to the dark side of the force, so enjoy the fluff while you can._

_Teaser: "Why do I gotta be the one to climb the tree?" Murphy asked. Connor would never admit that he was just a little freaked out by heights, so he worked his way around that. "Do you wanna do this, or not?"_

* * *

**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

_**Secrets**_

**Candra Hastings**

There had never really been any secrets between the MacManus twins.

Sure, there were some things that they kept private, but not really any secrets. Like Connor knew for a fact that Murphy had a beat up old spiral notebook that he wrote short stories in. Murphy had always been the creative one of the two, whether it been drawing, painting, writing. All that was Murphy's forte.

Murphy could doodle a cat for three minutes and it would look worthy to be placed in some fancy museum. Connor, on the other hand, could clumsily clutch the pen in his hand for three minutes and result in something that looked like a mutated hybrid of a school bus and a platypus.

Still, after being constant companions for twelve years, Connor had never once asked Murphy if he could read one of his stories or see one of his sketches that Murphy hadn't offered to him. Of what he'd seen over the years, he knew Murphy was talented, but he'd never tried to pry into his work. It wasn't secret, just private.

Connor, on the other hand, was a thinker. He loved math. It had structure, rules. All the things Murphy's mind couldn't wrap around. It was subjects like math and science that found Murphy struggling to grasp at the wee hours of the morning, Connor coaching him the whole time.

Murphy would get mad at himself when he couldn't understand why in the world he would ever need to know how to use a tangent. He would feel stupid as Connor patiently explained everything to him, walking him through each step. While Connor never flaunted his grades, it was no secret that he had high marks.

While Murphy wasn't a bad student, and was by no means any less intelligent than his twin, he had a much harder time paying attention in class than Connor did. He just always had to be moving. So instead of listening to the teachers talk about why you had to multiply the fraction by the reciprocal, Murphy would work on homework from classes he actually liked like Language and History.

But there was one thing that the two did keep secret from each other. Their fears. There was no way Connor would ever inform Murphy of his deadly fear of heights and Murphy would rather die than let Connor know that for some inexplicable reason, those giant things called horses gave him an uneasy feeling.

Connor felt stupid for his fear. Nothing had really ever traumatized him or anything. He just hated it that when he went to the pool with Murphy and some of their friends that he was the only one who had to make an excuse to not go off the diving board. He knew there was nothing to be scared about, but he just couldn't help himself.

The accident had been a long time ago, but it still had left it's mark on Murphy's confidence. He and Connor had been little when it had happened, maybe seven or eight. They'd been riding horses on their uncle's farm, just roaming around the fields. Murphy to this day couldn't tell you what happened. One moment he was trotting his chestnut down a hill. The next thing he knew, Connor was screaming his name while his twin tried to pull the horse off of him. He didn't know why the horse fell over and managed to crush him under it's weight, but it had left Murphy with an uneasy feeling around the beasts.

But for whatever reason they feared the things they did, both twins refused to admit their fears to each other. That is, until the day Connor found out something else he was afraid of.

The two twelve-year-olds were doing what they did best. Getting into trouble. They never meant to cause trouble. They were sweet kids who just often had ideas that lead to trouble.

But Connor had always been the one with the plan. Whatever he'd said, Murphy almost always agreed to. So when Connor and Murphy managed to get their hands on an old tire, it had been Connor who came up with the bright idea to make a swing.

"You know what we need, Murph? Some rope!"

Murphy scratched his head, ruffling his dark, messy locks. "Where are we gonna get some rope?"

"I think our uncle has some in the barn. Let's go get it an' set ta findin' a tree, eh?"

The two made the trip to their uncle's, walking down the long and dusty country road. They rolled the tire between them along the way. When they finally made it to the barn, Connor was rewarded with finding a long length of rope.

The two knew just the place where they could set up their new swing. Connor had the rope wrapped around his thin, gangly frame while Murphy continued to roll the tire along. It was

when they came to the biggest tree on the farm that Connor stopped, causing Murphy to halt as well.

"Perfect," Connor commented. "Now all yah gotta do is climb up and tie the rope to that there branch." Connor pointed to a thick, long branch that protruded from the base of the tree trunk.

Murphy frowned and wiped the hair out of his eyes. "Why do I gotta be the one to climb the tree?" he asked.

Connor would never admit that he was just a little freaked out by heights, so he worked his way around that. "Do you wanna do this, or not?"

Murphy bit at his thumbnail and nodded. He inspected the tree, walking all the way around it. The closest branch to the ground was higher than he could reach. "Not any footholds," he pointed out to his brother, "Gonna need a boost."

Connor nodded and got into position, happy Murphy was going to do the task he couldn't. He moved to the tree and set the rope aside so he could bend his knees and weave his fingers

together so Murphy could step in.

The twins nodded at each other, signaling that they were ready. Murphy gripped Connor's shoulder as the fairer twin hefted the darker up. With the lift from Connor, Murphy was able to grab on to the branch. Connor lifted as high as he could, giving Murphy as much help as possible as Murphy pulled himself up onto the branch.

Connor watched his twin settle on a low limb, fear gripping his heart. He knew Murphy was great at climbing trees, but the idea that his brother was high above him bothered Connor to no end. He tried to put the thought out of his mind while he tossed the rope up to Murphy's waiting hands.

Murphy unwound the coil of rope and wrapped one end around the thick branch a few times. He frowned when the rope was too long and dragged on the ground. "I gotta go higher," he explained to Connor as he recoiled the rope and draped it over his shoulder.

Connor didn't like the sound of that. He wanted Murphy to be safe, but he really wanted his swing, too. So he nodded as Murphy began to climb up to the next few branches. "Be careful, Murph," he called as he eyed every branch his brother touched, hoping they would hold his weight.

"Oh, I'll be fine, Con. You're such a mother hen! I already got me a Ma, an' I'm not lookin' for another," Murphy tossed lazily over his shoulder as he settled on a higher branch. Even though his response was flip, he made sure the branch he perched on was solid before unwinding the rope again.

Connor glared at his brother's remark and huffed a little. "Yeah, like I'd care if yah fell. Knowin' your thick head, you'd be fine," he shot back as he grabbed the end of the rope hanging in his face. "Ow!" Connor yelped suddenly as an apple dropped on his head.

He glared up at Murphy, who looked down innocently at him as the blond rubbed the tender spot on his head. "Oops, sorry, Con. Thought your thick skull woulda protected yah. Guess that baby skin of yours bruises easy, little brother."

"I'm the oldest an' yah know it!" Connor snapped. "Now shut your hole and give us a little more slack on the rope."

Murphy smirked and did as asked. He held the end of the rope in his hands as Connor tied the other end firmly around the tire. Murphy watched Connor give the rope a fair tug or two to make sure the knot would hold before he gave his nod of approval.

"It's good," Connor called up to his brother, a little jolt going through his heart when he saw Murphy looking awful small in that big tree. But Murphy's big grin pushed away Connor's worries.

Murphy smiled down at his brother. He was excited. Soon, they'd have an awesome swing. And even if he had to fight Connor, he was going to be the first to try it out. Eager to finish, he hollered down to his twin, "Okay, Con! Hold up the tire!"

Connor struggled to do as Murphy asked. The tire was heavy. Very heavy. Connor didn't know if anything had ever felt heavier. But Murphy was counting on him, so Connor dug deep and found the strength needed to lift the tire as Murphy pulled the rope taut so he could tie the other end to the branch. After a moment, Connor felt the weight of the tie lax and he knew Murphy'd done it.

"Done," Murphy called down.

Connor nodded in reply before an evil smirk crawled onto his face. "Murph, sucks that you're all the way up there! Guess I'm tryin' the swing first!"

Murphy's draw dropped indignantly when Connor climbed into the swing before him. "Hey! I was the one who fixed it!" he growled as he moved to come down the tree as quickly as he could. He was gonna toss Connor a good one, that's what he was going to do.

Connor saw it happen in slow motion. He didn't even have time to cry out before it was over, though. He just watched in mute horror as one of the branches Murphy had taken on the way down in his haste had snapped when he'd stepped on it, sending the darker twin down, hitting branch after branch until he landed harshly on the ground with a sick "thud" of a still body and the harsh "crack" of bones breaking.

Connor was still for a moment. It was as if this were some kind of horror movie and the person watching had hit the pause button. Everything was frozen. His muscles refused to move and his mouth refused to open and his voice refused to work. Connor was just as still as the body of his brother.

And then he saw the blood pooling around Murphy's head and something in Connor propelled him forward.

He slid out of that stupid swing and stumbled over to Murphy's still form. Everything was wrong. Murphy, lively, energetic, playful Murphy wasn't moving. In fact, Connor didn't know if Murphy was even conscious to move. Or if he was even capable of moving with the way his body looked.

His arm looked funny. It was at an odd angle that looked extremely painful to Connor. The twelve-year-old couldn't tell if it was broken or dislocated or what. Something was broken in his brother's body, that was for sure. He'd heard it.

But it was the blood that scared Connor the most. Murphy was bleeding heavily from a wound in his head. His twin was facing the ground, so Connor couldn't see it well, but he knew it was bad by the amount of blood that Murphy was losing.

Connor didn't know what to do. A million questions plagued him. Should he touch Murphy? Should he try to wake him up? What if Murphy had lost too much blood? What if something unrepairable had been done to his brother? What if Murphy died?

Connor shook that away. He couldn't think that. He had to be strong now for Murphy. He had to take care of him.

He went by instinct, getting to his knees by Murphy's still form. As lightly as he could, he patted Murphy's shoulder. "Murph? Murphy, can yah hear me? Murph, c'mon! Please answer me!"

Panic. Sheer and utter panic when Murphy didn't respond. Connor continued doing what was natural to him. What did people do in those T.V. shows about hospitals? They checked for a pulse, right?

Connor was scared to touch his twin but it had to be done. He reached out two fingers and probed Murphy's neck for that magic spot people always felt for in the movies, looking for his brother's heartbeat. When he found it strong and steady, he sighed with relief.

Now what should he do? A little voice who sounded an awful lot like Murphy in the back of his head told him to go get help. No. No, Connor couldn't leave him. Not like this. There was no way he was leaving Murphy for any reason.

But it was what Murphy needed him to do. And as much as Connor hated it, he knew it.

So Connor gently rolled Murphy over, trying to somehow make his unconscious darker half more comfortable. The wound in his head looked bad. Really bad. He couldn't see bone or anything like that, but it was deep and long and was oozing blood. It was a jagged mark that ran from the top of Murphy's right eyebrow to the top of his ear.

Connor swallowed the bile back down. There wasn't time to be getting sick.

He wanted to take Murphy's hand, to feel the warmth of his brother's life, but he was still scared to touch him. So Connor backed away from Murphy, getting to his feet and preparing himself to do what Murphy needed him to do.

"I'll be right back, Murph, yah hear? Just you hold on, alright?" he said before turning on his heel and forcing himself to run away from his brother, no matter how wrong it felt to do so.

Connor ran. He ran for all he was worth. He ran until his legs throbbed and his lungs burned and his skin felt like it was melting, leaving his bones exposed to the blazing sun. But Connor didn't care, he just kept running, never slowing the whole way as he barged into his uncle's house, screaming for the adult to come help him, to come help Murphy.

The next thing he knew, Connor was riding in his uncle's truck, Murphy's still body propped up in his lap as his uncle sped to the emergency room. Though Connor was still afraid to touch Murphy, there wasn't much space in the cab not to, so he pulled his brother close, resting a hand on his chest to feel the deep and steady breaths there.

And then they were at the emergency room. Connor was on his uncle's heels as the man carried his twin's limp body into the hospital. He didn't want Murphy to get out of his sight, so his eyes were penned to Murphy as they moved.

Before Connor could figure out what was happening, Murphy's still form was being placed on a gurney and rolled out. He moved to catch up to his brother, even going as far as grasping Murphy's hand, but his twin was ripped away from him by the doctors rolling him away and his uncle's strong arms around his waist.

"Murph! Murphy!" Connor screamed as he tried to pull away from the arms. Didn't he know he had to stay with Murphy? Didn't he understand that he'd already left him once while he was hurt and he couldn't stand to do it again?

"Connor, calm down!" his uncle said. "As soon as they take care of him, you can go see him."

But Connor wasn't listening. He flailed and shrieked and clawed wildly at his uncle's arms, doing anything in his power to free himself to get to Murphy. He didn't care that he was making a scene. He didn't care if his uncle would be mad at him. All he cared about was that Murphy was being taken from him and he couldn't go after him.

And Connor decided that day as he slumped in his uncle's strong arms, sobbing until his chest hurt, that no one would ever be able to take Murphy from him ever again. Because it was like someone was ripping his heart out from his chest and Connor didn't know if he could ever take feeling like that again.

It wasn't that long of a wait considering the situation. It was only an hour later that a nurse came asking for the MacManus family, but to Connor, it had been a century full of praying. As soon as she'd told them where they could find Murphy, Connor had been off, winding his way through the maze of halls until he got to his brother's room.

Murphy was propped up in bed, a nurse hovering over him. She was checking one of his bandages when Connor went in. His uncle was in the doorway, hanging back. He knew Connor needed to have space. He knew Connor needed to be there for Murphy.

Murphy heard someone come in and looked to the door. When he spotted Connor, he couldn't stop the ear-to-ear grin from showing up on his bruised and battered face. "Hey, Connor," he croaked out hoarsely.

The sound of Murphy talking after seeing him so still under that tree was music to Connor's ears. It was like he was back out in the field again. Connor froze. He couldn't move. Seeing Murphy alive and alert was just too wonderful.

Murphy frowned, pulling the skin where the stitches had closed his head wound. "What's wrong, Con? Aren't yah gonna come see me?" he asked while patting the space on the bed next to him.

Connor moved instantly. If Murphy wanted him close, that was what he would get. He was at his twin's side in the blink of an eye, but he hesitated before crawling into the bed, hovering next to him. He looked back to his uncle, who in turn looked to the nurse. The nurse smiled and nodded in encouragement. "We'll be outside," she said before the two adults left, closing the door behind them.

"C'mon, Connor," Murphy called once more patting the spot next to him. He scooted over to make more room, and Connor didn't miss the wince on his face at the movement.

Connor did as asked, though and settled slowly on the bed, skin against skin making him calmer instantly. Murphy smiled at the closeness and snuggled closer into his brother's side. When he looked up and saw Connor frowning, some of the happiness at seeing his twin evaporated from him.

"What's wrong? You seem upset."

And then it all came out because it was obvious that Murphy had absolutely no idea how utterly terrified Connor had been the past few hours.

"Upset? Of course I'm upset!" Connor snapped. "Jeez, Murph! Do yah even have a clue how scared I was when yah fell outta that stupid tree? It was terrible! You weren't movin', I could hardly tell if yah were breathin', an' then I had ta' leave yah ta' go get help when the whole thing was my fault in the first place!"

Murphy was quiet for a second before the hand that wasn't wired up to stuff reached up and poked Connor in the ribs. "How was it your fault?"

Connor laughed dryly, like he was exhausted. "Because I was the one who had yah goin' up in the tree ta' 'cause I couldn't do it m'self," Connor admitted. He didn't even care if Murphy knew he hated heights. All that mattered was that Murphy was safe and he was here for Connor to confess secrets like that to.

"What do yah mean, yah couldn't do it?" Murphy asked, face contorting under the bruises in confusion.

Connor took a deep breath and looked away, unwilling for Murphy to see the weakness in his eyes. "I... I had yah do it because I was too scared... Scared of goin' up in that tree. I'm... I'm scared of heights, Murph. I was the one who put yah up there because I was too scared. It's my fault you're hurt."

Connor was ready for the teasing. For Murphy to laugh at him. It was stupid. There was absolutely no reason to be freaked out by heights, and Murphy could make fun of him for it if he wanted to. He wasn't expecting the quiet confession.

"I'm scared of horses, yah know," Murphy whispered as he looked towards his brother, seeking out his reaction.

Surprise wasn't what he expected. "Really? Yah seem fine when we go ridin'."

Murphy shrugged and regretted it when his sore body protested. "I'm scared of 'em, but it doesn't matter. I mean, you're always there with me. If somethin' happened, I know you'd take care of it," Murphy said like it was common sense.

And Connor just couldn't help the feeling of pride that swelled in his chest. Murphy wasn't scared when he was around. That just made Connor so proud that he could do that for Murphy. He wrapped an arm around his darker half's shoulders and pulled him closer, allowing Murphy to use his shoulder as a pillow. He kissed the top of his brother's head. "Thanks, Murph. I'm sorry 'bout t'day."

"M'fine," Murphy tried to settle his worried brother, but Connor knew he was lying. His brother was tough, but he was still able to hurt.

"How bad is it, really?" Connor asked, needing to know.

"Not too bad. I've got a couple of broken ribs, shoulder was dislocated, but they've gone an' fixed that. Just the nice little scratch on my head was the worst of it."

"That's not a scratch, Murphy. You're lucky yah don't have any brains or they'd come spillin' out o' a hole that big," Connor teased.

Murphy snorted. "I've got more brains than you, don't I? I'm not the one throwin' a fit in the hospital, scarin' everyone."

Connor froze. "How'd yah know bout that?"

Murphy smirked. "The nurse told me I was 'very lucky to have such a caring brother'." he said with sarcasm.

Connor huffed like it was nothing. "Yeah, well it's just 'cause I was scared."

Murphy frowned. Connor was scared of something else other than heights? No way. He had to know. "Of what?"

"Why, the scariest thing in the world," Connor explained. "I thought I was gonna lose yah. And heights are nothin' compared to that."

"Really?" Murphy asked in awe.

Connor nodded solemnly before resting his head on top of Murphy's. "Yeah, Murph, it really is. When they took yah away, I've never been more scared in my whole life. I'd climb a thousand trees to make sure that never happened again."

Murphy smiled, drowsiness of the painkillers kicking in. "Well, don't worry. I'm not goin' anywhere, Con."

Connor just snuggled closer and closed his eyes. "I know, Murph. I know."

He would make sure of it. Nothing, including heights, would ever keep him from Murphy again.


	8. Family Ties

_A/N__: If you have something you want to see, post a review or send me a message and I'll get back to you within the day. This is something I had pop up when my inner Murphy was improv-ing random plots with Connor (VeritasVamp)._

_Author's Rant__: Okay, so this is a sad one. I guess I'm just a Murphy!whump lover. I really beat that poor kid up a lot! And then I just REALLY like to screw with Connor's head. So here's another one of those._

_Teaser__: "Hey, Con. Looks like it's time to put your stupid rope to use."_

* * *

**Of Rope and Rambo Knives**

**_Family Ties_**

**Candra Hastings**

It had gone wrong.

The MacManus brothers had broken into a mafioso's house in order to save some souls. They'd taken most of them. All but one, in fact.

But this last one had managed to press Murphy's own Rambo knife to his throat.

Connor stood ten feet from his brother, eyes glued to the blade trained on his twin. Every muscle in his body was tense with the realization that Murphy's life was in the hands of a criminal. He raised his gun, the man's head in his sights. In response, the man yanked harder on his grip in Murphy's hair, making the darker Saint wince.

Connor's heart thundered in his chest.

"So it's true, then? You guys really are brothers?" the man asked, his hand holding the knife to Murphy trembling. He was scared. Connor could see that. But that didn't matter. He had Murphy, so in Connor's eyes, he was most dangerous man in the world.

Connor didn't reply to the question. He didn't have to. The deadly glint in his eyes trained on the man before him spoke volumes, telling the man that Connor at least cared about the person being held hostage. Cared enough to kill for.

"Let him go," Connor commanded, voice tight. His eyes flickered from the face of the man with the blade and his brother's matching pair of cool blue eyes. They didn't hold fear or terror. Murphy didn't fear death. Neither of them really did. What they did fear was leaving each other alone.

Murphy's eyes held guilt for the situation that the twins were now facing. Connor wanted to tell him that it was okay, that the roles could've easily been switched and Connor could've been the one in jeopardy. But until that knife was off his brother, nothing was okay.

"See, that's where we have a little problem. As long as I have bubby here," the man said, pressing the knife a little harder against Murphy's throat, "I have a free ticket out of this room alive. And I'm not about to give that up."

Connor instinctively took at step forward when a flicker of pain danced across Murphy's features before he could hide it. That only resulted in the man taking a step back towards the door, dragging Murphy with him. "Ahh, ahh, let's not do anything to hurt bubby," he said pointedly, yanking harder on Murphy's hair, wrenching his head back to the point that it was hard to see Connor.

Connor's eyes held lightning.

The darker twin groaned quietly at the movement. Whether from the yanking of his hair or the blade on his flesh, Connor couldn't tell. He just knew that this guy was hurting his brother. And that was unacceptable.

Something snapped inside of Connor as the man took another step back, pulling Murphy with him. He wasn't Connor MacManus, the kind Catholic boy who went to church every Sunday. He wasn't the Saint dealing out truth alongside justice. He was a force of nature. A tornado in a bottle. A chemical reaction waiting to combust.

He was unhinged.

"Stop," he commanded. The word was a threat in itself.

"Let's look at my options here," the man said. "I can give you back your brother and you'll have every reason to kill me. I think we both know that's not really an option."

Connor swallowed. He knew the man was right, but that didn't stop him from wanting him to just let Murphy go.

"Or... I can take bubby with me," the man continued, dark eyes locked to Connor's.

The fairer Saint growled. There was no way that could happen. He wasn't about to let this guy leave with Murphy and do God know's what to him until he decided to kill him. It wasn't an option.

Connor cocked his gun. "You're not leaving with him. I'll hunt you down. You'll never be able to sleep soundly again," voice steely, cold.

The man hadn't accounted for that. It was obvious, written all over his face. He thought about it, assessing his options again. Connor's stomach churned when he grinned.

"Well I guess that leaves option number three." Before Connor could even imagine what option number three could be, the man removed the blade from Murphy's throat and drove it into his shoulder, eliciting an agonized cry from Murphy.

"Murph!" Connor screamed as the man shoved the darker brother away from him. He turned on his heel and ran, using his distraction to make his escape. Connor didn't care about that, though. He only cared about Murphy, darting forward to where his brother had fallen.

Murphy gasped in pain as he went down. He fell back against the wall, sliding down, his trembling hand reaching towards his wound. He almost jumped in surprise when his fingers curled around the hilt of his Rambo knife, still lodged in his shoulder.

Connor forgot entirely about the man. All that mattered was that Murphy was hurt, pain contorting his features has he attempted to pull the knife from his shoulder. Connor's heart clinched when Murphy cried out, shaking hand slipping from the blade, unable to pull it out.

Connor dropped to his knees next to his twin, hands hovering around the wound. "Murph, I... I gotta... gotta take it out..." He didn't want to. He didn't want to cause his brother any more pain than he was already in. But that knife had to come out.

Murphy nodded. He knew Connor was scared. Hell, so was he. But though the wound was bleeding pretty badly as it was, it would only get worse when the knife came out. And Murphy knew what would have to be done after. Now, he just had to prepare Connor.

"Con," he panted, pain shortening his breath. "I... I know... An'... then we gotta... gotta close it up..."

"It's gonna be alright, Murph," Connor promised. "C'mon, lets get ya up." The fairer Saint got under his brother's uninjured side, taking some of his weight as they got Murphy standing. He swayed a little from the blood loss, but Connor rooted him still, refusing to let him fall.

Together, they made the torturous journey to the car. Murphy was leaning heavily on Connor as walked. The two managed to get the darker brother into the car. Then, Connor got in the driver's side, not even bothering to put his seatbelt on.

He drove as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. Though Murphy was putting pressure on his wound, the blood seeped through his fingers. Connor's eyes darted over to look at it every few seconds and each time, he saw more and more blood.

Murphy saw the worry on Connor's face and though he was hurting, he felt the need to calm his brother. "S'okay, Con. M'fine."

"That's a lot of blood, Murphy."

And it was. Murphy couldn't argue with that. So he didn't. He just pressed down harder at his bloody wound as his vision began to go fuzzy. He tried to shake it off, but before he knew it, he could feel his eyes closing.

Connor saw his twin's head lull out of the corner of his eye. "Murphy, wake up!" he growled. One of his hands reached over to shake his brother awake. "Ya wake up right now!"

Murphy jumped a little at Connor's tone. He sounded angry, but Murphy knew better. He could hear the fear under the harsh tone. "Sorry," the darker twin slurred. "Sorry."

Connor's heart pounded at the weak note to his twin's voice. Murphy was bad off if he was trying to pass out. He looked to his brother and saw the pain on his face, twisting Connor's stomach in knots. "Murph... Maybe we should go to the hospital..."

"No," Murphy replied instantly, voice holding a bit more power. That wasn't an option. If they went to a hospital, there could be some kind of investigation. They couldn't afford that.

"Murph... that's a lot o' blood."

"I said no, Connor!" he snapped. Murphy hissed when his sudden outburst pulled at his wound. "We can't do that. We can take care of it."

Connor knew what his brother meant by taking care of it. His insides twisted at the very thought of putting that iron to his brother's skin. They hadn't needed it since their shootout with Ill Duce, and back then, they'd had another set of hands.

"That's not exactly an option this time, brother. We don't really have enough hands for that job," Connor said quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Murphy replied, tilting his head back against the seat to try to stay awake. "I've got a plan."

Connor wanted to ask what the plan was, but something in Murphy's tone stopped him. He didn't know what that sound to his brother's voice was. It didn't seem like fear, but it wasn't entirely confident, either. It almost sounded like he was... uncomfortable. That was the best word he could come up with. And who wouldn't be, clutching to a gaping wound in their arm?

So Connor didn't question it until he got Murphy inside their apartment and seated in a chair. He looked to his brother, trusting him to have this all figured out. Murphy was the hurt one, so whatever he wanted, he was getting it.

"Get the iron ready," Murphy instructed.

Connor nodded and did as asked without a word. He was already mentally preparing himself for what he was going to have to do. He didn't want to cause his brother that burning pain, but he couldn't let Murphy bleed out on him, either. In the end, Connor knew he had to pick the lesser of two evils.

"Get the rag," Murphy continued to direct, still holding on desperately to his wound.

Connor followed orders and looked for a dishcloth that could serve as a gag for his brother. He didn't want to restrict his brother like that, but they couldn't have people looking in on them when the screaming starts. Connor shivered at the thought.

"Murph," Connor said tentatively, "We're gonna have a problem. I'm gonna need ya to hold still while I do this and we both know that its not really possible to do on your own..." Connor was saying that they needed that extra set of hands now to hold Murphy still so the job wouldn't get ruined by all the thrashing and jerking his body was going to instinctually do.

Murphy frowned at his brother. "I know. But I've got a solution."

"What's that, then?" Connor asked, getting a little impatient that Murphy wasn't just telling him what he was thinking.

Murphy tried to offer a teasing smile. He knew that what he was going to ask Connor to do next was going to bother his twin and he wanted to make things as easy for his brother as possible. "Hey, Con. Looks like it's time to put your stupid rope to use."

Connor froze where he was as Murphy's words washed over him. It took him a moment to register their meaning. "Is... Is this a joke? You're kidding, right?"

Murphy's smile fell. He knew Connor wouldn't like this. "No, I'm serious. Connor, I need ya to do it."

"I... I... Murph, I can't!" Connor stuttered. What the hell was Murphy thinking? There was no way Connor was going to tie him to a chair so he could burn him to the point that he'd be screaming his lungs out. Connor couldn't... torture his brother like that.

Murphy could feel his energy draining. This needed to happen and it needed to happen soon. "Connor, I know ya don't wanna do that to me, but it's what's gotta happen. We both know I'm not gonna be able to hold still and we have to get this thing closed up. Just please... do it... for me..."

Connor closed his eyes, and shook his head. He could hear the desperation in Murphy's voice. If Murphy needed it, then he'd do it. And he'd hate himself for it. Connor sighed, his heart heavy. "Alright, Murph. I'll do what ya ask."

Murphy didn't say anything as Connor pulled the rope out and walked over to him. Connor's hands shook as he walked behind his brother. He couldn't stand to look in his eyes. Not after what he was planning to do to him. "How do ya wanna do this?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.

"Hands behind my back, tied to the chair. Otherwise, I'll move too much. And you'll have to tie the gag for me, brother. My arm won't let me..." he trailed, knowing that it was killing Connor to restrict him like this. But it needed to be done and if he trusted anyone to do it, it was Connor.

Connor only nodded as he set to work. Murphy offered him his wrists behind his back. Looping the rope through the back of the chair first, Connor tied his brother's hands together. He wanted to make it loose, but he couldn't. Murphy's jerking would tear his hands free and that couldn't happen. So Connor gritted his teeth as he tightened the knot around his brother's wrists.

"Now the gag," Murphy prodded his brother. Connor's mouth was set in a hard line as he rolled the dish towel into a shape that would be as comfortable as possible. He stood behind Murphy as his brother allowed him to feed the cloth between his teeth. Connor tried to not think about what he was doing as he tied the ends behind Murphy's head tight enough that it wouldn't come undone easily.

Connor rested his hand on the back of Murphy's neck, not wanting to hurt him, but wanting to provide comfort for what was next. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Though Murphy had volunteered for this, his hands still instinctively tugged at his bonds without his permission. He bit down on the cloth wedged between his teeth, taking strength from Connor's touch. He nodded, ready.

Connor refused to really look at Murphy as he took the iron in hand. He tore the shirt away from the shoulder where the wound was. He took one last glance at Murphy's face, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Now?"

Another nod signaled that Connor had permission to press the burning hot iron to the flesh of his twin's shoulder. He did. And when Murphy threw his head back, screams muffled as his back arched away from the chair his hands were bound to, Connor hated himself. But he couldn't stop. He had to hold that iron there for thirty seconds. If he didn't, he would have to start again, and Connor didn't think he had it in him to do that.

So thirty seconds passed as Murphy's body struggled and screamed against it's restrictions. Thirty seconds of thrashing and blood and smell of burnt flesh. Thirty seven seconds of a living nightmare. Thirty seconds of pure hell passed for Connor.

And then the thirty seconds that felt like a lifetime ended, and Connor practically tossed the iron away from him. He was frozen in place, hands trembling as he watched Murphy go slack in his chair, head hung low as he fell forward, his bound hands the only thing keeping him rooted to the chair.

"Murphy!" Connor cried as he reached out tentatively to his brother. He wanted to cry, but he was too scared to. He had to make sure Murphy was okay. His fingers brushed under his brother's jaw, using the gentlest touch to lift his brother's heavy head.

Murphy's eyes were closed. Silent tears of pain streamed down his face, only falling when Connor lifted his head. Murphy doesn't cry. It's a rule that both twins knew. It just doesn't happen. When Connor saw that the rule had been broken, his heart shattered and his own tears fell as well. "Oh, Murph... I'm so sorry..."

Connor crouched and lifted his brothers head so he could look him in the eyes. His thumbs stroked his cheekbones, just above the fabric tied around his head. "Murph? Look at me. Look at your Connor, ya hear?"

Murphy reacted instinctually to his twin's command. His eyes opened, the blue even brighter as his eyes watered. He and Connor locked eyes, both brothers trying to read the other's emotions.

"I'm gonna take this out, okay?" Connor asked, referring to the gag. With an affirmative blink from Murphy, he eased the cloth out from between his brother's teeth, allowing Murphy to take in deep pained breaths as the fabric hung around his neck.

"Murph... are ya alright?" Connor asked in a small, fearful voice. He hated seeing his lively, energetic brother so hurt... so defeated. He searched his eyes, looking for the spark that was purely Murphy that usually shown there.

Murphy couldn't talk, even when free of the gag. His body was still of fire and he just couldn't force any words out. But he could see that Connor needed him to be as normal as possible. And after forcing Connor to do what he'd done tonight, he just had to help him. "Mm... M'fine..." His breaths were short and pained, his lungs struggling to take in air.

"M'so sorry," Connor mumbled as his fingers clutched to Murphy's hair, needing to see his twin's eyes. He had to act as Murphy's strength, allowing him to hold up his weary head. "So... so sorry I... I had to..."

"Ss... S'okay... S'okay, Con. Nn... Not your fault..." Murphy tried to comfort him. He wanted more than anything to put his arms around Connor and to make him feel better, but that wasn't an option yet. His eyes locked to Connor's teary ones. "Con? Can ya... ya bandage me arm?"

The fairer twin nodded, trying as gently as he could to adjust Murphy so he could see his eyes without supporting him, resting his head back on the chair. A soft groan escaped Murphy as Connor pulled out a large bandage. With as light a touch he could manage, he smoothed the patch over his brother's wound.

When he looked up, Murphy's eyes were closed. That was unacceptable. Murphy had to be awake for a bit longer. They couldn't have him going into shock. "Murph! Murphy, wake up!" Connor called as he patted his brother's face.

Murphy's cool blue eyes fluttered open. They wandered around until they locked onto Connor's face, focusing on the fearful gaze Connor had placed on him. "M'up. M'awake."

"Ya can't be fallin' asleep on me yet," Connor chided his brother. "Can't have ya goin' into shock on me, can we?"

"M'not goin' into shock, ya dummy," Murphy shot back, his tone exhausted but amused. "M'just tired."

"I know ya are. I'll get ya to bed in a second. I gotta... Gotta untie ya..." Connor said quietly, still hating the fact he'd had to restrain his brother in the first place. He moved behind Murphy's chair and set to work on the knots binding Murphy's wrists together. He was frustrated when his fingers refused to cooperate, trembling as he worked instead of dancing around with their normal grace.

Murphy could tell Connor was getting annoyed at his slow pace. He called out to him, trying to reassure him. "Connor, just take your time. You're fine."

There was no way Connor was leaving Murphy tied to a chair a second longer than he had to be. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten in his head, and started again. This time, his fingers obeyed him and in a few minutes, he'd freed his brother's rope raw wrists.

Without the support of the rope, Murphy almost fell. He wasn't strong enough to stay up by himself and he teetered. Before he could fall from the chair, Connor had his arms around his brother, steadying him, pulling him close to his chest in a protective motion. "I got ya. I got ya, Murph." Connor would never let him fall.

And there they sat on the floor together, Connor cradling Murphy close to him. He smoothed his twin's hair back from his face and kissed the top of his head before hugging him harder. And now, knowing that his brother was really alright after everything that had happened, Connor finally allowed himself to cry.


End file.
